


Rêves et Vœux

by OkeyDokeyLoki



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bottom Arthur, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Top Eames (Inception)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkeyDokeyLoki/pseuds/OkeyDokeyLoki
Summary: In the midst of a job, feeling rather self-congratulatory, Eames takes Arthur out for a drink, and Arthur subsequently gets drunk.Too drunk to remember when he wakes up that Eames loves him, it seems.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Kudos: 44





	Rêves et Vœux

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't finished this but damn I want you to see it

Eames knew he was supposed to be focusing on the intricate plan for the job, but all he could think about was the way Arthur leaned over the table, trousers hugging his petite ass beautifully.

"...and we need this to insinuate that there's a corrupt insider and misdirect the blame. He'll destroy his own company."

"Why don't I just forge his assistant?" Eames asked, lazily drumming his fingers on the countertop.

"I already said that was your job," said Arthur irritably.

Eames shrugged good-naturedly and grinned. "Do continue, Darling."

Arthur gritted his teeth, but did continue.

The job wasn't quite over, but it was worth it to see Arthur sip at a spritzer, while Eames had a pint of amber beer.

Though seated alone at the bar, Arthur gave the distinct impression that he wanted nothing to do with anyone right at that moment.

Perfect.

Eames slid in beside him, beer sloshing slightly and forming a small puddle on the counter.

"I don't see why you must worry so much all the time, Darling," he said easily, savoring his drink.

"Someone has to," Arthur grumped, looking pointedly at him.

"Dom does plenty," Eames pointed out.

"Yes, but we have to account for what could go wrong, and he hopes it will all work out."

"Nothing wrong with accepting what comes and working with it," Eames opined, smiling lopsidedly at him.

Arthur downed the rest of his spritzer in one go. "You give me gray hairs, Eames," he said, but a smile was trying to work its way into his lips.

"Nonsense. More of a silver."

Arthur had never, ever let himself get drunk, but Eames pushed drinks at him, paid for them, and offered to be the designated driver.

Within thirty minutes his speech was slightly slurred, his suit jacket hanging over the back of his chair.

"Eammmes," he mumbled into his arm, where he'd rested his head a moment.

"Yes?" Eames asked with a grin.

"It's unfair. You're so... calm and mellow. I worry about... well, a lot," Arthur emerged from the crook of his elbow, and his hair was delightfully disheveled.

Eames smiled gently at him. "Years of practice, Darling."

Arthur fixed him with an incredulous stare. "Take me home with you?" He asked hopefully.

"You're drunk, my dear Arthur."

Arthur crossed his arms and glared at Eames. Ah, there he was. "I'm not leaving this bar until you promise me."

He parted his legs slightly and leaned forward, eyes gleaming. Eames gulped and crossed his legs.

Well, bugger it all. He wasn't a saint anyway.

"Promise me that you'll leave a note for yourself or something," Eames retorted.

Arthur slapped the table abruptly. "Done. Now take me home, Mr. Eames."

How could he say no?

<><><>

Of course, home meant the hotel they were staying in.

Eames could barely keep his hands off Arthur in the ride over and in the elevator once they made it inside.

Arthur wasn't much help. They necked in the elevator like their lives depended on it, and Arthur was starved for intimacy.

Arthur stumbled once on the way to Eames's room, so the Brit lifted him by the thighs, and carried him the rest of the way.

God, the heat of Arthur's body against his was doing terrible things to him.

He barely got the card onto the scanner, and thank the fucking heavens, the door was open.

Eames didn't remember much afterward, except that they fumbled out of their clothes, threw them in the corner, and then it was just them and nothing between them.

Arthur's gasps were sweet, and Eames relished it. He undulated against the lithe body beneath his, and gently positioned his achingly hard cock at Arthur's entrance, and at his lover's hissed insistence, he pushed inside.

He peppered kisses along Arthur's neck, and held him flush against him as he began to move ever so slowly, Arthur's legs coming to hook behind his back.

When the pained little whimpers turned to little gasps of euphoria, Eames began to drive into Arthur with real force, moaning with pleasure and praising Arthur with each thrust.

It was over far too quickly, Arthur climaxing all over Eames's tattoos, before Eames reciprocated deep inside Arthur with a grunt of bliss.

They kissed then, again, but it was different. Arthur was pliant, warm, and soft, and seemed totally in love with Eames.

Shame he was bloody wasted.

He probably wouldn't continue to love him in the morning.

<><><>

He was correct, it seemed.

The bedsheets were cold in the morning, and when he met Dom at their meeting place, Arthur had already gone.

Eames felt a hollow ache deep in his chest. He took and Advil and a swig of whiskey from his flask, and smiled at Dom, a fake smile. "Right, what do you need, Cobb?"

<><><>

The job went pear-shaped.

One of the employees overheard an incriminating phone call, and they had less than two hours to leave the country.

Eames only saw Arthur once, on the way out of the hotel, and even then, he couldn't catch up to him.

That was June.

<><><>

Eames got a few jobs here and there, but he looked for Arthur in the interim.

But Arthur had vanished. No paper trail, at least nothing under his usual aliases.

Dom wouldn't answer his phone, and Yusuf probably changed phone numbers, for all Eames knew.

The days were a blur of that hollow ache, spreading further and further throughout his body, and alcohol at night.

One night, he even tried forgetting Arthur with a scorchingly gorgeous woman.

He began with his usual number, helping her undress and peppering kisses across her body.

She smiled at him, tugged his clothes off, and knelt before him.

He wasn't even half-mast.

The lady was a good sport, Eames mused. She gave it a brave few laps before looking bemusedly up at him.

He had the grace to blush and look otherwise embarassed. "You're bloody gorgeous, I've just..."

The woman gave him a look. "Oh, hon, have you been dumped?"

Eames ended up telling her the entire story, minus what he did for a living.

She nodded along with him, and finally fixed him with an unimpressed expression. "You both sound like you're running away from each other because you don't want to hurt the other, but it's hurting you even more. Is that right?"

Stunned, Eames nodded.

She chuckled. "Well, when you do find him, and you will, prove to him that you're not going anywhere. You probably spooked him with your past relationships."

"You're a lot wiser than my usual lays," Eames mumbled, but his eyes twinkled.

She got dressed, kissed his cheek, wished him well, and left.

<><><>

Ariadne called him in December, when he was at his mum's house for Christmas.

He was nursing a tea he had spiked with his flask and catching up with her, when his phone buzzed. "I'll only be a moment, Mum."

He slipped outside. It was cold as Hell, but if it was about work, he couldn't let her hear.

She thought he was working on a dissertation for environmental science. Or was it Slavic studies? He took another swig from his spiked tea.

He answered the call.

"Eames?" She sounded kind of relieved and irritated simultaneously.

"Didn't think of all people, I'd hear from you. What's going on?"

"Did you hurt Arthur?"

His heart skipped a beat, and then thudded roughly against his ribcage. "Of course not! Why do you ask? What's wrong? Is Arthur all right?" He escalated from calm to anxious and a little angry.

"He's fine, Eames, he just thinks you tore his heart out and ate it."

Eames wanted to laugh. Nothing could be further from the truth. If anyone ate anyone else's heart, it was fucking Arthur, not Eames.

"Oh, what, and you agree with that ideology?"

"Just... here. He's in Florence, just three blocks from the airport. If you go I'll give you directions."

"Why are you helping me?"

"He needs you, Eames. I'm on my way to see him now."

"I'll be there."


End file.
